The Most Important Day
by InfiniteEscuro
Summary: We all have important days. Want to know what the Six's most important day was? (Does Spiritual fit for this? Read and let me know)


When she saw the difference in how that woman acted between not knowing, meeting, and then travelling with Veronica, Cass had often wondered who she was.

Was she Jeanne Durand, the crack-shot that did her best to talk down her enemies rather than shoot them?

Or was she the Courier, the woman that had created the Divide as it now was, the woman who'd woke up from a bullet to the head and tracked down the man responsible over the course of months, leaving hundreds of bodies behind her?

Or was she someone else? Perhaps a bit of those two women mixing to create something new?

She was a conundrum alright, a strange person with a strange mind. From the way she could speak, Cass was sure that _Jeanne_ used to be an exceptionally soft soul, despite all the killing ability. But the Courier, who'd hung onto life with a bullet in her skull in a shallow grave, had forgotten that woman.

Words and the people hearing hers, that's where Jeanne's expertise had always been. She had the capacity to talk down a Super Mutant from killing someone, the compassion to talk the guns out of Raider hands. Jeanne could talk down armies from war.

Guns and the people or things on the other end of hers, that was where the Courier's expertise had always been. She could be outnumbered ten to one in the lobby of a casino; but she'd snuck in her gun and that meant only she would walk out. She could be met on all sides with Legionaries in the centre of their own camp; she'd walk away leaving the place burning. She usually just ended up pulling her pistol and shooting all her problems away with a smile that didn't hold compassion, her words twisted into forcing information or terror before, during, or after her shooting had begun.

 _Usually_ , not always. After one special day, things had changed, and then even the Courier could be outfought or convinced to go the passive way. There wasn't a single time Cass had ever seen her back down and let Jeanne talk. Her will was unwavering, her endurance unmatched. It wasn't guns or threats that made her reconsider shooting her way out of a problem.

It was Veronica that managed that.

The day Veronica had turned up, the day the Courier had seen her standing at the 188 as they stopped for a drink, that was the day Cass had finally fucking realised she wouldn't end up shooting the Courier in the back.

Veronica was to the Courier what the G.E.C.K was to the wasteland their world had become. She was the angel to soothe the devil. She was the one thing that managed to pull Jeanne out of her shallow grave. It had been extraordinary to see.

The Courier had a resting glare scarier than Cass's, and it took little more than a too-quick "Hello!" for her to have her gun out. But then, on that sweltering day at the 188, Cass had seen a miracle. She'd been graced with the sight she'd needed for a long three weeks. She'd grown to like what the Courier could be when she wasn't cold and focussed on tracking the Man in a Checkered Suit.

It was only after two minutes of talking that Cass had seen the Courier smile. It was only a minute later before she'd flinched, hand twitching towards her gun… before she cleared her throat and shook Veronica's hand, rather than aiming between her eyes.

Cass hadn't wanted to need to kill the Courier. But she wasn't the one that could help Jeanne fight that demon, so she was always ready just in case. But then they'd met Veronica, and Cass had met Jeanne Durand. Not long after, she'd come to know _Six_ as her greatest friend.

The Courier was a woman Boone always silently questioned until that day at the 188.

Her will was unyielding, her mind focussed and her motives so damn _twisted_. But she was a respectful woman despite it. She was something that made Boone's own cold heart hurt, because he'd saw the change in her in himself. She was a woman who had once strived to be a hero, who'd been able to see the good in anything, and a single man with a single bullet had turned her into a cold-blooded killer. A person that would sooner kill a dozen men and women than she would try and talk down just one person. It was ironic that she'd helped him out with his revenge if only because she was so consumed in her own.

He'd had a plan to take her down if the need arose since the third day he'd travelled with her. It would've been almost impossible to do alone. If there was a possibility of her bullet hitting him, it would; he'd need to be far off with his rifle. But the problem there is that she had a plan to kill everyone she met. She _knew_ that he thought the same, and she never vowed to have covering fire. He was always made to be in her sight; at the threat of either leaving and never coming back or being shot in the head. It would need to be during a fight. Something vicious that had them really trying, but at the same time something he and Cass alone could get out of after he put a round through the Courier's head and Cass put a slug in her back.

He'd never quite been pushed far enough to believe his plan was necessary, and Cass hadn't either. The Courier wasn't quite an _ally_ to anyone, but she wasn't an enemy of the NCR and she'd not exactly tried to help the Legion at any point. And a good thing that was; they'd never encountered such a fight. The Courier had gotten out of _everything_ that was thrown at her almost without needing help.

Then they reached the 188. Then he saw her notice Veronica. Then he'd had to turn away because that was how he'd looked when he met his wife.

There was something about that woman that had clicked for the Courier. It wasn't anything as vain as her being good to look at. It was something deep and forgotten, something that the Courier didn't understand. She hated not understanding something new, but he saw in her eyes that she feared it for a different reason. He had an idea as to why.

That woman wasn't always The Courier, she used to be Jeanne Durand.

But the former didn't remember the latter, even if she was still there. Veronica had something in her looks, in her voice, in her mind and in her heart; there was many things about her that terrified the Courier. They weren't terrifying because they were new and strange, they shook her to the bone because they were old, they were familiar in ways she'd forgotten, and they could be hers once more.

It was the first time he'd ever seen her smile in a way that wasn't hiding something horrid. For the first time she'd not been a wolf wearing sheep's skin. For once… for once she'd been a sheep wearing a wolf's pelt, trying to hide how lost she was as she listened to Veronica speak and failed to notice her hand extend in greeting, never mind draw her gun.

It was the very first time she'd hesitated. The first time she'd been surprised by something so utterly that she'd froze. It was the first time Boone had ever laid eyes on Jeanne Durand. It wasn't long after he'd walked away alongside _Six_.

I'd never been able to dwell on who I used to be until I got to the 188.

I used to just focus on the fact that I wasn't that woman anymore, that these words and pleas in my heart were nonsense made up by forgotten memories. Useless words that wouldn't be nearly as effective as a bullet between the eyes, a knife in the throat. I convinced myself that it only hurt, that it was only difficult at all because I wasn't letting go, so I just kept myself ready to draw my gun and shoot. I prepared plans to kill anyone I met no matter who they were, and I was sure the only reason it felt wrong was because the plans weren't perfect. So, I did nothing but improve them and I hated every second of the pain. I was so sure that I just wasn't good enough, that I had to dive head first into making myself a killer so the pain of not being good enough for revenge would go away.

Then me, Cass and Boone had got to the 188. I'd figured the bartender would be easy enough to take out with his gun so stupidly far out of reach under the bar, the girl selling food by him would go down with a bottle to the back of the head. The NCR over the bridge would be harder, one was in armour I'd need a grenade for; I was ready just in case to blow Boone's brains out and stab Cass in the guts. The two under the bridge would be easy pickings from above with the cover I'd have.

Then I'd heard _her_ mumble to herself about _groceries_ and I was sure she was invincible. I didn't know if I really thought she was bulletproof at first or if I thought she'd be able to stop me from landing a shot. I'd walked over to her, she'd spotted me coming and said hello, and I realised she was so damn terrifying that she'd stop me from even getting a hand on my gun.

She was the first thing I'd encountered in the Mojave that scared me. She was simple in looks, wearing ragged robes and a messy hair style under the hood. She'd been nothing special, and she'd made my heart skip so much I swore I was dying for a full minute. She was kind of heart with a voice so full of happy little lilts and little giggling jokes that I knew I was hallucinating. Cass and Boone had sat right down at the bar as if I didn't exist, so I was talking to an illusion born from overheating in the desert.

Then she reached out to shake my hand, she introduced herself, and I felt something die on the inside. I'd not even had the presence of mind to see her hand move, to see if she was holding a gun or a knife, to see if I could get out the way. I'd not even started moving for my gun until an entire two seconds after I saw her hand.

Veronica Santangelo killed me a little bit when I first met her. She'd brought me back to life at the exact same time.

I was The Courier when I saw the 188 Trading Post. I was Jeanne Durand when I was in it. And, I didn't know who I was when I left it, trailing behind Boone and Cass and just staring at this weird girl who lived in a hole in the ground.

Who the hell was she? What the hell was she? There was something so confusing and scary about her that I just couldn't understand. It was a few days of travel with my slow, confused, pitiful self before we hit New Vegas and Boone told me what he thought.

She reminded me of someone. She was someone Jeanne recognised as similar, familiar. She was something that terrified the Courier, because _Veronica_ _existing_ meant she wasn't long for the world.

I had stopped in the middle of the street unable to hear through blood rushing in my head. I'd watched Boone, Cass and _Veronica Santangelo_ walk ahead for a few metres…

And I'd thought about shooting her in the back.

It was the first time I'd cried since… well, who knows when?

Maybe she was the reason Benny had escaped New Vegas. Cass had even needed to _remind me_ why we were there.

There is something about that woman that The Courier hates, something that Jeanne Durand remembers, and… and something I need. Something I love.

188 is the most important number in the world. At that tiny trading post, I met Veronica Santangelo and realised who I was. In the 188 Trading Post, Veronica had faced down the Courier with a smile and killed her. She'd introduced herself to Jeanne Durand with a laugh, a joke, and had for the first time let her taste life. She'd travelled to New Vegas alongside Craig Boone, Rose of Sharon Cassidy, and a woman named by a number.

Jeanne had words, the Courier had guns. I have both, I like using both, and I love it when one makes sure the other doesn't come out.

I wiped out the Chairmen of The Strip; I helped rebuild the Tops afterwards.

I slaughtered the Legion at Fortification hill over the course of two hours; I left on a boat with freed slaves and a Man in a Checkered Suit _I_ had never met before.

My name is Six, need any help?


End file.
